"You thought!" Maitre Guillot's face was a study for Hogarth, who
alone could have painted the alto tone of voice as it proceeded from
his round O of a mouth. "Susette shall remain upon my hands an old
maid for the term of her natural life if you dispute the confection
of Easter pie!"
"Now listen, Jules," continued he, at once mollified by the
contrite, submissive air of his future son-in-law: "Upon the
foundation of the mince-meat of two hams of Westphalia,--or, if you
cannot get them, of two hams of our habitans,--place scientifically
the nicely-cut pieces of a fat turkey, leaving his head to stick out
of the upper crust, in evidence that Master Dindon lies buried
there! Add two fat capons, two plump partridges, two pigeons, and
the back and thighs of a brace of juicy hares. Fill up the whole
with beaten eggs, and the rich contents will resemble, as a poet
might say, 'fossils of the rock in golden yolks embedded and
enjellied!' Season as you would a saint. Cover with a slab of
pastry. Bake it as you would cook an angel, and not singe a
feather.
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